


No Opposite In Fear

by deathwailart



Series: Dragon Knights [OLD] [17]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dragons, Elves, Forbidden Love, Knights - Freeform, Multi, Nymphs & Dryads, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-11
Updated: 2013-07-20
Packaged: 2017-12-19 03:59:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/879196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathwailart/pseuds/deathwailart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An AU of Dragon Knights where the war doesn't begin until Tanis and Ilea are young women and lovers who find themselves on opposing sides of the war when the elves and dwarves move first against the humans and then the nymphs, trying to hide their love as they lead armies against one another.</p>
<p>Title from an E. E. Cummings quote.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_"Leave with me," Ilea begs her on the outskirts of where Borea meets the boundaries of Jormsen's wilds, "leave all this behind Tanis."_  
_  
"I cannot Ilea! I have my duty to my people, as do you," Tanis replies, her voice a furious whisper forced from a tight throat. She squeezes Ilea's hand hard enough to hurt. "We cannot abandon them."_  
_  
"Oh to hang with duty Tanis, to those who will listen let us leave."_  
_  
"Where would we go Ilea? This is madness," she drops Ilea's hand and marches away a few feet, back to Ilea, palms flat against a great old oak, dropping her head and she feels so tired, so worn, so very old when she's so very young. "How many would die? How many would suffer?"_  
_  
"How many would listen Tanis? You are respected as am I, we could leave, the dragons would come too." Ilea makes not a sound as she approaches but Tanis knows her well enough that she doesn't jump when the elf's hands come to rest on her shoulders, Tanis clad in a thin tunic instead of her armour._  
_  
"We cannot abandon them Ilea, the dragons will not listen to me," but she doesn't sound convinced, if anything she sounds contemplative, even to her own ears, turning to look at Ilea. "Where would we go Ilea?"_  
_  
"East, " she replies decisively._  
_  
"Those who go east never return."_  
  
_Ilea's smile is perhaps all the explanation she needs._  
  
Once there was peace. Once the dwarves came to the surface to trade with beautiful buildings above the entrances to their empires, lit only by lamps and light filtering through ornate stained glass, never bright enough to strain their eyes, cool and quiet. The forests and rivers were alive with nymphs who laughed and sang, who flitted their way through the lands, who told their histories and laughed. The half-elven were rare – it's hard to be with a partner who will pass on so quickly or who will outlive you indefinitely – but the kingdoms were close: Jormsen and Tishlen, Bevislang and Moja, Kokenavg and Vaile, Drageskjold and Rella Regnai, none so close as Jormsen and Tishlen with their young folk cavorting freely with the wood nymphs of the great forest of Borea, the oldest forest in all Stjarnacado, all of them listening at the feet of dragons. But rumblings of discontent spread quickly: the dwarves feeling cheated by the skill of the humans who sat at the feet of Ferrum, the great dragon of the smith and the elves who were weak to magic feared it. They met in secret, gathered in shadows and the dwarves began to dig deep and spread out with purpose, tunnelling beneath the settlements of humans, not only their four great kingdoms at each corner of Stjarnacado but beneath each settlement spread far and wide. Those in the north who had known long the friendliest of relations, the kinship of Jormsen and Tishlen sung of often, knew of rumblings of discontent and tension between the northern elven kingdom and Rella Regnai, knew of how Moja retreated in to itself.  
  
Three young women spoke of it in the quiet of Jormsen Fangs, Tanis, seventeen and a noble daughter of Jormsen, Ilea, ninety-one and elven princess of Tishlen, Oran, age irrelevant and a wood nymph of Borea. Tanis and Oran had been friends longest, since what passed as childhood for a nymph, spending hours exploring the wilds with other children, begging stories from giants, splashing in rivers, riding around on the backs of the great ogres even nymph children could calm and rolling around with young dragons. Friendship with Ilea came later, formal introductions between nobility and royalty with Tanis shadowing the elven princess but now the gap of years – relative though it is – seemed smaller, Tanis close to being considered to be the same age, thereabouts, as Ilea. They were not meant to speak of ill tidings, not with Tanis pregnant as the end of her training drew close; it was not required of her, to have children but her father had been the same age when he had fathered her and it was considered the right thing to do for Dragon Knights. The only chance to have children before a life devoted to duty, to patrolling and defending the land and the dragons. The father of her children was Torrin, son of Brynjar and of Sigrun the royal smith who had apprenticed under Ferrum, the great dragon of the smith. Torrin had no desire to be a Dragon Knight and instead wished to follow in the footsteps of his mother but he and Tanis had been friends since childhood, close and accustomed to sharing many things including secrets and so she had asked of him, barely seventeen and nervous even though her noble blood and fair features had sent admirers her way, to father her children. Torrin was tall and broad of shoulder, his temper slower to kindle than hers, stern but possessing a gentle heart and wicked humour, Brynjar's dark curls and Sigrun's ruddy complexion. He'd agreed and when he wasn't in the forge or attending lessons he was with her, fetching what she needed or talking to her stomach until she made fun of him and ruffled his curls.  
  
The young women had spoken of the rumours in whispers until Tanis yawned and fell asleep with her head on Ilea's shoulder, the elf's hand on the swollen curve of her belly where life moved and kicked and squirmed within. Oran plucked flowers from her own skin and wove them into Tanis' hair but frowned instead of smiling, telling Ilea of the trees being felled from the forests, how the Old Mother sagged with grief and pain.  
  
"There is something gravely amiss Ilea," she had whispered, mindful of how poorly Tanis slept at present with her children moving restlessly, her joints and back aching, feet and ankles swollen. Ilea had sighed and traced elven script over Tanis' stomach, symbols of protection and good fortune and had changed the subject to wondering what names Tanis and Torrin would pick for their children.  
  
Then the spring clutch of eggs birthed by Solace herself were stolen from Dragetro, the highest mountain in all Stjarnacado that Jormsen Fangs had been carved into, the mountain from which Solace, high dragon priestess had descended aeons ago with her body shifting from dragon to human to speak to the people there who had looked upon her with fear and awe. The eggs were never found but for a few dropped on the way down from the mountain, yolk and underdeveloped young left where they'd fallen; Solace's anguished howl had echoed throughout the land, even those at sea said they could hear it. The whole of Jormsen had rumbled, glass shattering in windowpanes, children and animals wailing and Tanis had gone into labour, screaming and sobbing out prayers. Three days later, Tanis gave birth to twins, a son and daughter she named Gudrun and Gunnar and they celebrated with even Solace descending in her grief to smile and bless the new life given to them; new life and new children were something to be grateful for and in time, Tanis would join the dragons, would share their hearts and magic. And in time she did – by her eighteenth birthday, body healed, ceremonies performed, the heavens consulted and the meditation achieved she underwent the ritual, watched over by a council of elders in the darkest part of Jormsen Fangs, the children with their father. Her mother, Ragna, court healer, was present to watch over her. Her father Hákon and his partner Brynjar were there too, both of them Dragon Knights and Brynjar just as much her father as Hákon and other remaining Dragon Knights stood vigil and later celebrated, raising toasts to welcome the newest of their number, few though they were. They had been stationed to guard all clutches now, spread out far and wide across all Stjarnacado wherever the dragons made their nests. Nests had never needed to be guarded before when the only threat had been a few wild beasts who would break in and steal one or two, such was fate and nature and the dragons understood for they ate the young of others too, did they not? But whole clutches had never been stolen and now they worried. They could not guard their own young for fear that their young would grow afraid before they had even lived in truth and so the Dragon Knights had begged to guard the nests.  
  
Still the dragons had been uneasy. The Knights bore a dragon heart, the same heart a dragon had given up to share with them but the compromise had been made and so far, no nests had been attacked though in truth it was still the scale that caused alarm; Dragetro was the highest mountain, it was the roost of Solace the priestess. There was not even a word for what had been done.  
  
At the feast in honour of the new Dragon Knight, Tishlen sent their sons and daughter to wish Tanis well and it was there that Ilea summoned her courage and stepped forward once Tanis was no longer mobbed, when the speeches had ended and the bards had lifted up voices and instrument. Oran had given her the final shove, her brothers had snorted and she had forced herself to stop looking for Hákon, Ragna or Brynjar for seeing them would destroy her courage.  
  
"Drer Ilea!" Tanis had greeted brightly, her pale cheeks flushed red from alcohol and the dancing she had been taking part in.  
  
"Congratulations," Ilea had replied, feeling herself blush as Tanis clumsily hugged her tightly, laughing in her ear.  
  
"Jer!" And Ilea had managed not to laugh at how Tanis had seemingly forgotten the elven tongue that she always tried to use around Ilea, her accent thick.  
  
"A gift," Ilea had said with a shy smile, reaching out to push stray hair from Tanis' face, "I know it does not compare to the smithing of your own people or dwarves and I hope it's not seen as too forward but I know the giving of a token is a courtship gesture of your people-"  
  
Tanis smiled, cupping Ilea's cheek with one hand, the other closing over the elf's. "I would be honoured," she had replied and had turned to allow Ilea to fasten the necklace in place, a golden chain of seamless links decorated with large stars set with glittering citrine stones and with smaller stars linked between the larger stars with golden wire. "Ilea this is..." Her had fingers traced over the metal and stones, her smile small and awed. "Jernen. Jernen, Ilea, I..."  
  
Her hands had cupped Ilea's cheeks as her family looked on, indulgent smiles on their faces.  
  
"She's very much yours," Ragna had teased from Hákon's left, Brynjar snorting when the other man let out an indignant yelp borne of wounded pride.  
  
"I was the very soul of-"  
  
"A fumbling arse," Brynjar had finished and leant past him to bump his tankard against Ragna's.  
  
"I hate both of you," Hákon had muttered but he'd looked over to where the young women were dancing, trying their best to appear proper. "We need hope right now. Look how happy they are."  
  
They had been in agreement, as had Sigrun and Gunhild when they had come to investigate what was going on, Torrin rolling his eyes and saying that he would clearly have to be the responsible parent that night. Yet it had been Tanis and Ilea who'd ended up asleep in the nursery, Ilea with Gudrun, Tanis with Gunnar, one asleep in the chair and the other the small bed for whoever slept the night in the nursery to be close should the twins cry. In the morning, hung over and with a headache that felt as though Ferrum himself was hammering her skull, Tanis nevertheless retrieved a comb and bid Ilea to sit before her so she could comb out her hair and braid it anew. It was seen as a sign: new birth, new kin to the dragon and perhaps a very new sort of allegiance between two kingdoms and two peoples. They courted as was proper, they made more formal introductions to their families and then seemingly at last the courtship was consummated and they held their own celebration with friends and family, Oran weaving flower crowns.  
  
But it was not the time for enduring happiness. Those days had come and gone. Even absorbed in one another as was the wont of young lovers caught up in exchanging gifts and following the traditions of one another as best they could then the first tentative touches as they came to know one another better they had not ignored the worrying signs. They had spoken of it often, travelling between Jormsen, Tishlen and Borea or when brushing and braiding hair or fletching arrows or whatever it was that tradition demanded. Not only had more eggs been raided, Dragon Knights had been attacked whilst guarding them, many wounded and some killed outright but the wounded had died after they had been found. Poison it was said, poison not even a dragon's heart could fight nor healing magics. Tanis had confided that she had seen her own mother weeping over those she could not save and the strange mix of fury and terror coming from the dragon heart that replaced her human heart.  
  
"How long will this last?" She'd asked as she and Ilea lay together, naked beneath thick furs for even in summer the north was cold and prone to snows and hard frosts. "It has gone on too long already."  
  
"I know not," Ilea had replied, pulling the younger woman closer. "But the rulers of Rella Regnai where the newest attacks were have called for a summit to discuss all of this and to address the rumours of discord between their kingdom and mine. We will have answers then."  
  
"I hope so," Tanis had replied sleepily, around a yawn and had tucked her head beneath Ilea's chin.  
  
The elven rulers of Rella Regnai had indeed called for a summit to discuss the fate of Solace's clutch and to address the rumours that plagued the lands and so with a retinue of Dragon Knights the high king and queen of the humans had gone from Jormsen as had the kings and queens of Bevislang, Kokenavg and Drageskjold and Tishlen, Moja and Vaile had sent their rulers too leaving sons, daughters and nobles in charge. It left them vulnerable; the children of human royalty were all Dragon Knights, all of them stationed to guard the clutches or dead and indeed Jormsen was already in mourning not only for the Knights who had fallen but for the children of their high king and queen who had lost their only son to poison. The great city lay quiet, the children sensing the mood of their parents and the adults around and thus not up to mischief or games, the nymphs uninvited to the summit and guarding their territories. The wood nymphs reported ever growing numbers of trees being felled and the water nymphs complained of their rivers and pools becoming putrid with foul poisons; worse still were the bodies unceremoniously dumped in the waters, the bodies of Dragon Knights, some stripped of their armour and some not, left to bloat and fester were it not for the nymphs dragging them free. Everyone looked to their own borders, suspicions rising.  
  
Then came the news.  
  
It was a cold day, the beginning of autumn with thicker frosts and the leaves of the trees turning from green to gold, the sky clear but grey when the bells tolled from high in the Fangs and Tanis and Torrin, both of them taking the children out to play had turned to one another in alarm before scooping the twins back up and racing inside, handing them off to one of the nursemaids. Gunhild had met them in the hall and the look on her face was worse than the bells. Gunhild was a tall woman, her auburn hair liberally streaked with grey, her face stern and lined, slender but muscled, not a Dragon Knight herself but the weapons trainer to all of them who had trained both Hákon and Brynjar and Tanis too, as well as teaching the current prospects. Gunhild was calm, she was collected. Her tempers were more rare than her smiles and she taught with a stern hand but loved them like her children and she'd known Tanis' grandparents well when they'd still been alive before they had sailed off to the east in search of adventure before Hákon had come close to taking his trials. Gunhild's eyes were wide and her mouth a thin white line, hands clenching around the two swords she wore around a belt at her waist.  
  
"Gunhild," Torrin had said when Tanis could not find her voice and given that Gunhild and his mother were together, it was unsurprising that he was better able to speak to her.  
  
"In," she had replied, jerking her head towards the door. "Now!" She had shouted when they had remained frozen to the spot and so with a lead weight in her gut Tanis had entered the great hall to find her father, mother, Brynjar, Sigrun, remaining members of the court and a handful of Dragon Knights sitting at the banquet table, all of them drawn as if in shock. Brynjar perched on the table, her mother stood behind the chair at the head and her father paced restlessly. Torrin squeezed her hand before going to stand with his mother and Gunhild.  
  
The silence that fell was deafening and Tanis wondered when anyone would speak, wishing someone would say something even if it was to confirm the fears taking shape in her mind. Finally her father drew to a halt, clearing his throat as he clutched Brynjar's shoulder for support as her mother clutched his.  
  
"I received word this morning carried by a young dragon. There is no easy way to say this, such words should never be said but we have been betrayed: the summit at Rella Regnai was a ploy and a trap to lure our rulers away from their kingdoms – all were slain by the hands of elves," he'd held up a hand to stop the cries before they could begin in earnest and Tanis had feared she would be sick for a dreadful moment, standing apart from everyone else, fixed to the spot. "The elves and dwarves have conspired against us – dwarven poisons from beneath the earth have slain our brave men and women and they, with these traitorous elves have stolen eggs and slain the unborn. And now..." It was the fact that he'd faltered, her father who was never serious, who laughed and embarrassed her and kissed Brynjar and her mother for far too long in public and who teased and joked constantly, the fact that he looked ready to crumble, that threatened to make her knees buckle. "Now we must look to war. There is no other option. They broke ancient laws and treaties by luring our rulers away from their kingdoms and people, by slaying the dragons who have been teachers to us all."  
  
Silence fell again but this time Tanis was the one to break it. "Who else is there?" She had asked when her father fell silent. "Who is left?"  
  
"Me," Hákon said as his legs buckled beneath him, collapsing heavily into a vacant seat. Brynjar muttered an oath under his breath, her mother curled her hands into fists and Tanis could not hear a thing beyond the roar of her blood in her ears, the frantic pounding of her dragon heart as the scar flared to life.  
  
"Tanis," her mother said, cool hands on her shoulders, healing hands and she had fled, wrenching herself away even though she was noble, even though she should have had composure and dignity and all she could think of was Ilea, Ilea and the strength of her slender frame, Ilea who could hit any target with her bow and arrow, Ilea who whispered sweet nothings in her ear and showed just how talented her fingers were, Ilea beneath her, gasping and shaking under Tanis' touch and most of all that first courtship gift she wore even though it was too ornate and impractical for a Dragon Knight because she loved it and the shy smile that had been on Ilea's face when she had given it to her.  
  
She didn't remember stumbling to a stop, she didn't remember anyone calling her name until Brynjar was there, his strong arms pulling her close even as she fought him until she sobbed against his chest, the fabric of his shirt bunched tightly in her fists. He'd said nothing because there was nothing to say; these tears were from shock, it hadn't sunk in yet that they would go to war for the first time since they were all nothing more than barbarian tribes back when humans had lived in fear of dragons.  
  
Even so, war did not begin right away but once it did it grew swiftly.  
  
Tanis is twenty-four now and Ilea ninety-eight, both of them leading armies, young generals by necessity, fierce and wild and tempered by advisors. They are enemies in name and name alone who now sneak towards Borea to meet in secret, not in armour but in simple tunics. They've conducted their affair this way since the news came to Jormsen of the betrayal. Each time one of them agrees to meet the other Tanis swears it will be the last.  
  
She has said that every time since the first time.


	2. Chapter 2

The forest is too still when Tanis crosses the boundary of where the Jormsen wilds meet Borea. The army camp is far enough away that there's little chance of her own company coming close to spotting them on patrol but she knows how keen elven eyes are even in the dark and that when their vision is compromised, their hearing is even better to compensate. Oran keeps lookout for them, connected as she is to every other nymph and to the very vibrations of the earth beneath their feet and it's only through her that Ilea is allowed to set foot here. Tanis wonders how Ilea can stomach it. How she can step foot across these borders when it's her people who are responsible for the deaths of nymphs either from elven blades and arrows, dwarven poisons or from how the nymphs have decided to deal with this war: by returning to nature permanently. Never in Stjarnacado's history have there been so many rivers and lakes and pools, never have the forests spread so wide. Ilea hasn't been to Jormsen since they learned the news of the elven betrayal in Rella Regnai. Drageskjold has been razed to the ground and Tanis can't really imagine it – she's never been that far west but she's seen the maps, the art, she knew how many people lived there, the second largest human city after Jormsen and to imagine how many were slain or enslaved (and that is something so abhorrent, that people who once worked together are now shackled and made to serve) in the events that followed.  
  
In the moonlight that filters through the canopy she can just about spot Ilea leaning against a tree, her skin seeming to glow and it unfairly takes her breath away. She has dreams where they have all the time in the world and others where she agrees to Ilea's mad plans and they run away together into the unknown and leave this mess for someone else. But she could never leave, not in truth. She is the sword of her people, she bears the heart of a dragon, she has duties and expectations and family of blood and choice and she would rather fall upon her own sword than truly consider dereliction of duty in the cold light of day. Yet she can't stop herself from providing more fuel for these dreams and that's why she's here in Borea, knowing full well what Ilea will say because the song remains the same. She might change the wording, might add stresses or new reasoning but it's always escape. It's always just a dream that remains out of reach, nothing more than smoke.  
  
"This never works Ilea." She tries to harden her heart each and every time they agree to meet, steels herself the way she does each morning when she has to address troops and give reports, when she has to inspire them when they she leads them into battle and when she has to speak well of them when they die. "You ask me each time to run away with you and the answer is always the same."  
  
"And yet," Ilea replies, creeping closer and the hopeful smile on her face makes Tanis want to kiss her and hit her at the same time because it's a reminder of the courtship gift Tanis couldn't bring herself to throw away. How dare Ilea have hope in a war of her people's making? (And Tanis knows it's unfair to think that, a hot knot of guilt in her stomach but Ilea's people haven't lost as many, Ilea's people inflict brutality, Ilea's people _lied_. It's easier to forget that Ilea is not her people when she's alone in her tent at night, exhausted and feeling so damn old already but here, confronted with the woman she still loves in spite of the war, she remembers that Ilea is only Ilea, regardless of her race.) "You still come."  
  
"I am a fool," Tanis replies but there's no heat in it. Sometimes it still manages to shock her when she really listens to herself and hears how hollow she sounds as though all the joy has been ripped out of her. In a way, it has. Her joy was when she ran barefoot with Oran as a girl and when Ilea courted her, those all too brief moments that she should have savoured because now they can't even undress fully. Now it's furious kisses that are more teeth than lips and having to heal the marks so no one gets suspicious, tree bark against someone's back when the other shoves them back hard enough to bruise. She wonders how Ilea looks now, how almost seven years in a time of war translates for an ageless elf. Is Ilea's skin as soft as she remembers? Does she taste the same?  
  
"This isn't foolish – they said we were hope-"  
  
"Where has hope brought us Ilea?" She asks and hates herself, hates how broken and small and defeated she sounds when those are the things she is always fighting not to be even when everyone tells her that she can, that she is allowed.  
  
Ilea is quiet for too long and Tanis wants to at least provoke something out of her because their time is too short to spend it in silence in a forest with armies to return to.  
  
"Think of your children-" It's as far as Ilea gets before Tanis turns on her, magic bubbling under her skin, hot fierce rage of her dragon heart and a mother, snarling.  
  
"Do not presume to speak of my children, you know nothing of motherhood Ilea," she hisses, eye to eye, nose to nose. Ilea cowers, her dark eyes wide and fearful.  
  
"Gerenthe," she breathes, using the human tongue and that seems to settle Tanis who eyes her with suspicion but steps back, the air around them cooling. She lives in fear for her children and there are always arguments between parents and the elders about where is safest for their children. She wanted Gudrun and Gunnar to grow up as she had, instead they have had to learn not to cry when they're scared because you never know who is outside the door, to only open the door if they know the voice on the other side.  She and Torrin have had to tell them how to escape, to hold hands tight and _run_ if they are instructed to and that they're not to be afraid, that they can't be afraid and she used to cry in his arms after those first lessons because those were not the things she was meant to teach her children, not at all.  
  
"You could never run away Ilea, you love Tishlen too much for that."  
  
"I would run away with you if I could – if I thought it wouldn't provoke the ire of the elven nations then I would join you but we both know better than that."  
  
They've already spoken of Moja and Bevislang as no doubt everyone had, the attempt at an alliance crushed by swift action on either side and it's the futility of it all, that they cannot unite beyond their races without fear of reprisal. Those who wish to see the war ended should be able to fight together and together with Oran they agree that in a perfect world there wouldn't even be a war if they could band together although Oran always points out that her people are not meant to take sides – they are meant to nurture the earth and water that nurtured them and her agreeing to given Tanis and Ilea this time together is more than enough. Tanis is able to meet with Oran more easily because the nymphs and their magic are persecuted much like the humans but lack the army and equipment to fight back. Earlier in the war the nymphs had been sheltered by the humans and dragons but now it's too difficult. The poisons the dwarves have concocted are more toxic to dragons and Dragon Knights than to others it seems – if treated quickly for normal humans they heal better, if drunk in fouled water, they sicken but do not die. Her mother and the other healers and those with talents for herbs and poisons and such things have no answers. Nor do the dragons. It troubles Tanis and it troubled Ilea and Oran too when she told them of this. The dragons have laid no new clutches since and Solace...  
  
No, she can't think of Solace now. She has to focus on the here and now, her and Ilea and it's impulsive but she is often impulsive when she can be now, she has the heart of a fire dragon, reckless and wild and always burning, her thumb on Ilea's chin, fingers curled underneath to pull her into a kiss. It feels desperate and it takes a moment for Ilea to realise she's allowed to touch Tanis, to cling tight and when they break away Tanis can feel the bitter sting of tears in her eyes. She can let herself cry with Ilea just as Ilea can with her. Here in Borea, in their personal no man's land, they can be what they want to be and more importantly what they need to be for themselves instead of all the other impossible things others need or want them to be.  
  
"Psst!"  
  
Oran's voice no longer makes them jump. They're too ready for battle at a given moment and having to be ready to move and fight the moment they open their eyes, alert to each and every sound. When Ilea said that she would make sure Tanis made it back to her people if she heard a sound that wasn't Oran when they first met like this Tanis believed her and it's one of the few things she still clings to.  
  
"You two should hurry, meet another day, the borders are creeping," the nymph warns and Tanis hates this moment even as she lets Ilea pull her into another kiss, frantic and messy. It's I love you, be safe, I miss you and goodbye all at once and when they have to break apart to breathe, Tanis doesn't want to let go, her fingers clutching Ilea's tunic.  "Tanis," Oran hisses.  
  
"Nehlya," Tanis says quietly and Ilea creeps away leaving the human and nymph alone. Tanis and Oran being together wouldn't cause a stir, people will think they're exchanging news or taking time to talk – everyone knew they were friends.  
  
They seem to forget, willingly or not, that Tanis and Ilea were so much more.  
  
"Tanis?" Oran asks quietly when Tanis stares at Ilea's retreating back even after she's long since out of sight.  
  
"I hate this," Tanis says miserably and when Oran wraps slender vines around her she doesn't fight, embracing the nymph, accustomed to the feel of wood, petals and leaves against her skin. "I remember how it was. I remember even when there were rumours of what was coming how close the three of us were, even then."  
  
Oran leans back with a creak, watery smile on her face. "I knew you and Ilea would become what you are."  
  
"Were."  
  
"Are." Oran's voice is teasing but firm. Oran who still believes that there will be a new dawn one day though Tanis doubts she'll be around to see it. She's come close to death already, magic and her dragon heart pulling her through but gone are the days where Dragon Knights enjoyed longer lives than most humans. Now they are the ones dying faster than they can be replaced. Oran's voice pulls her from her thoughts although the flexing of the vines around her help too.  
  
"Gerenthe, you were saying?"  
  
"I was saying you are Tanis, you and Ilea you still talk, you still kiss and touch and love. Ilea was so jealous of Torrin for touching you like that even though it was a mutual choice and you desired nothing more than to give your children the very best that you could. I think that was the push she needed." The memory makes Tanis smile and think of the necklace hidden safely in her pack, carried around with her everywhere she goes. Does Ilea have the comb Tanis had made for her? Somehow she knows that she does. "We both know she has the right of it."  
  
"I know, I know. I can never admit that," there's a forced smile on her face, it probably looks more like a pained grimace but Oran is kind enough not to point it out, "wouldn't want it to go to her elven head would we?" She sobers though and squeezes Oran tight. It's getting late and she needs to get some semblance of sleep and to get back before people come looking for her. "Stay safe, I'll return when I can."  
  
"You too," Oran whispers but she's slow to let go and Tanis can feel her eyes on her back as she hurries to the camp and tent where she kicks off her boots and rummages around in her pack for the damned necklace, holding it so tight it cuts into her palm as she curls in on herself on a pile of blankets that passes for a bed, praying to Solace that this will end soon.  
  
Winter comes thick and fast to the north and an uneasy sort of truce settles into place – it's an excuse to regroup and heal before the next wave of attacks come, to train people, resupply and no one is willing to risk valuable troops to the elements. Tanis retreats to Jormsen and spends time with Torrin who is even more muscular these days from the amount of work sent his way, repairing or forging arms and armour and no matter how often he bathes he smells like the forge. They spend time with their children, reading to them, trying to reassure them, pretending to be normal. Tanis takes them out to play in the snow and Torrin hoists them up on either shoulder even though they're long past being little – he's brawny enough for it. She spends time where she can with her mother, with Brynjar, with Sigrun and Gunhild but they're never together and trying to catch her father even in this time of supposed peace is near impossible. She's restless. She paces. She can't sleep well and takes no pleasure in food or drink and spends hours wandering the castle that's so empty now. Before the halls were always bustling, people laughing, singing and talking but now they can hardly bare to look each other in the eye.  
  
At last she ends up in the great hall where her father holds a quiet court almost every day to keep things running, getting out what news he's given of the south, west and east. There's a tall stack of missives to his elbow, ink and quill on the table and she's quiet when she greets him, waiting for him to be done and to muster her courage. A wild question she hasn't ever dared to ask even when she was young and heartbroken, crying and lashing out at everyone who came close to her. Finally she clears her throat when he takes a break and prays that she isn't about to say something she'll regret for years to come.  
  
"If Brynjar had been an elf," she begins, nervously wetting her lower lip with her tongue, her heart fluttering wildly in her throat, "could you have put him aside?"  
  
To his credit her father doesn't immediately jump down her throat though she hears him choke on his wine. "What?"  
  
"If Brynjar," it's hard to look up but she has to, she isn't a teenager anymore, she's an adult, she's seen blood and battle, "had been an elf. Could you have put him aside?"  
  
"We're Fated Ones," he says lightly but only after an uncomfortably long pause.  
  
She grits her teeth, swallows down the anger that's so quick to spark in her these days. "Fine. If my mother-"  
  
"We had this conversation long ago. You put her aside." She can't hold his gaze, she looks down at her hands and her fingers twitch as if remembering how Ilea linked them when they last kissed goodbye, Oran rustling her way through the trees to tell them time was up and to go. "You put her aside," he repeats and sounds more unsure of what he thought was fact and how he's meant to respond to it. "Tanis, tell me, _please_ , tell me that you're not so stupid-"  
  
"I love her!" She spits furiously, dimly aware of the clatter of her chair as she surges to her feet, fingers tight on the table.  
  
"You were a child!"  
  
"I was a woman! I had children, I was a Dragon Knight, I stood as equal with everyone in that room! You were the same age when you and my mother had me, you were younger when you fell in love with Brynjar!"  
  
"Those are very different things!" He's on his feet too, marching over to wrench her away from the table with his hands around his biceps, a grip as strong as iron bands and she fights him, her lips curling into the feral snarl they say she wears in battle.  
  
"You want them to be different, Ilea is _not_ her people and I loved her then and love her now and no one said that Fated Ones were bound to be from the same race," she argues as she struggles but her father is older, stronger and her anger is exhausting. "Mother told me what you said to her and Brynjar that night she gave me a courtship gift when I stood in this room to be welcomed as the same as you, you said we needed hope then. Look at us now." It's a strange sound that escapes her, something that should be laughter but isn't, harsh and bitter, tears she no longer has. "If we needed hope then, what do we need now? We are clinging to bones and ash father."  
  
He lets go of her, retreats back a few steps and goes deadly still. She remembers him the day he realised he was the one left to lead their people and how he stood then but Brynjar and her mother were there with him and right now Brynjar is with Gunhild training raw boys and girls because no one can afford the luxury of not knowing how to fight and her mother is consumed with her duties as healer until she collapses from exhaustion. She wonders when they last had time together. When any combination of them last stole breathless moments of lips and fingers and what skin they could reach, bitten-off moans and sighs, pockets of calm before the storm descended again. Tanis has seen her father laugh and rage and scream in anguish and pain and more than once she has seen him so close to death it chilled her to the bone. She's seen him cry before, again from pain or sickness, joy and sorrow but it's the way he crumples. He always seemed as strong to her as the stone of the mountains, resolute beneath his humour and the cry that bubbles out of him is a wounded animal noise, the sound a creature she'd hunt makes when an arrow strikes true and he's gasping for breath and it takes too long for her to move and grab him the way he grabbed her, her head on his shoulder.  
  
"Gerenthe, gerenthe, gerenethe," she repeats over and over until the word has no meaning, a litany that does nothing more than ground her as she tries to hold them both up but there are too many days where she questions her ability to hold _herself_ up and they clatter to the floor in a heap. One of his arms is around her waist, the other curled around the back of her head as he chokes and sobs. She realises she's crying too when the leather beneath her cheek becomes damp and slick and then her father is heaving so badly she fears he's about to be sick but it passes and slowly but surely his breathing evens. Her face is hot and uncomfortable and she's too old to be crying in her father's arms but she wants to be a little girl again where he could slay all her enemies, when the worst she had to worry about was her nightmares.  
  
"Gerenthe," he rasps out at last and she laughs and cries at the same time, just one more little gurgling sob before she lets him wipe at her face. "We should never...I wish this didn't have to be this way but-"  
  
"Jan eth va jan eth," she finishes and he nods, sniffing wetly. They both have things to do but when she tries to get to her feet he gives her a tug and arranges them so they're sitting side by side, one of his arms around her shoulders, their legs stretched out before them.  
  
"I wanted to give you the world and I gave you this."  
  
"No, you gave me so much more than this. Liars and traitors and malcontents gave us this. Not you, never you."  
  
"Maybe one day we'll both believe that."  
  
"Can you try to believe in hope? If not for you then for me?" Saying it makes her feel impossibly small yet large all at once.  
  
"Anything for you," he replies immediately and they're just words, that's all any of them can give one another right now but she'll take what she can get and it coaxes the first smile – the first thing even close to a smile – from her father in over a year and that feels a lot more like victory than slaying elves and dwarves on the plains of Stjarnacado.


	3. Chapter 3

The days gnaw at her. They hold what celebrations they can but Solace does not come even though she is priestess and it makes the offerings, the songs and devotions for there are no gifts they can give now, ring hollow. Hákon leads them with the elders but there's a friction between the council and the rest of them – the council likes it best when they're all away at war, Tanis suspects, and forgets that they are only elected to guide and not to rule. Changes have occurred even if she can't put her finger on exactly what it is but it _feels_ different and that is enough to arouse suspicion; before they would never dare to be so bold in their opinions but now they challenge decisions that are nothing to do with them – they were the ones to say that they should only give song and prayer to the dragons this year instead of scraping together food and gifts as they did the past few years. In private Tanis makes her offerings; she finds a fat white hare and fells it with her magic so she won't spoil the pelt, allows it to thaw and kneels on a stone floor chanting with candles about her. It eases the restless feeling that hasn't entirely abated. At least her family seem closer. Stone walls echo and her chambers are close enough to those of her parents that she's heard more than she would look and though it makes her miss Ilea and contemplate her cold and empty bed, she can see how much lighter he seems, the years falling away from him. She teases Brynjar's strut and the flush on her mother's cheeks and needles her father over the silly expression he goes about wearing but at least some of the people she loves are miserable. There are offers to share her bed; human culture is free with its affections for the most and many of the marriages she knows are open marriages, inviting others, sharing beds and partners, it's the norm, especially here in Jormsen and Tanis and Ilea made no promises when they had to part. She's thought of it. She's come close to it, to finding another person to spend a night with but even the few kisses and fumbling groping touches made her feel sick, like she was betraying something. At first she thought it would be easier with a man rather than a woman, with a different body – heavier, broader, hairier and her and Torrin are close enough even if Torrin has little interest in anything outside his forge that she knows of but in the end nothing came of it save her apologising the next morning and Torrin holding her and saying he understood. So she's alone with her hands and her memories. She wonders if Ilea is the same. She's never asked the same way Ilea has never asked her and it makes her blood boil with jealousy to think of another touching the elf princess even though any claims they made or wished to make are another casualty of war.  
  
So she throws herself into what she can do. She helps to train other recruits even if she lacks the true patience for it, snapping and snarling if someone is too slow or hesitant, barks orders and is perhaps rougher than she needs to be. She spars with her fellow knights and drinks, sharing the same old stories and singing the oldest songs they know and climbs up Dragetro to speak with the dragons, her palms rubbing along their scales.  
  
"Is there any word of Solace?" She asks each time, looking to the highest peak of the mountain that none have dared to scale save the thieves and murderers who stole and smashed her eggs.  
  
"None." Today it is Confgra who replies, a great beast of gold and red scales that shimmer even in the weak winter sun, his eyes glowing like hot coals. As with all Dragon Knights, she feels most comfortable around the dragons with the same heart as her and Confgra is the great fire dragon, the largest and most powerful and when he bends and inclines his neck she leans against him willingly, soaking up the heat he gives off as her heart thumps. "We are all sorry fire-daughter."  
  
"Fal," she replies quickly, "I understand. If I lost Gudrun or Gunnar..."  
  
"Do not think in such a way. We have lost too many sons and daughters to even think of what might have been."  
  
_Or what might be_ , Tanis thinks but does not say. She isn't rude to the beings she worships. Instead she inclines her head respectfully. "How are things going? Truthfully. I hear the reports, I fight the battles but I do not see as any of you do."  
  
"Badly." There has always been something so wonderfully blunt about Confgra that she appreciates where others do not. "We have not laid any clutch since Solace's eggs. There has been no mating. No courtship."  
  
"We noticed. The skies and mountains have seemed so quiet in spring, everyone takes it for an ill omen. No one blames any of you, not with all that happens but dragons are dying the same as us but we still have children."  
  
"Never before have we weathered such losses, not since the wars from long before your time fire-daughter when our number splintered off when some sought to control all the races of the world and enslave you. We worried that they might still be here, that they have been in hiding and seek to wipe us out to seize control..." Confgra's voice is a pained rumble against her side and she bites her lip, butting her head against his with care; his eyes are larger than her entire head, as is the case with all great dragons. She's heard some stories of the days before, what the dragons care to tell them without wishing to cause any alarm. It's hard to hear now but she will listen if he wishes to speak, soothing him with her hands and presence. "Pay no heed to such worries of an old dragon. I lost brothers in that conflict, it is hard to lose more now to this pointless war."  
  
For a time they are silent as the snow begins to fall, melting where it comes into contact with Confgra's body. He always gives off heat given that he is fire contained by flesh and he raises one wing when the snow begins to pile on her – soon, huddled beneath him as she is – it almost looks like rain as snow melts and runs from his wing.  
  
"Do you think we can win this war?" It's easier to ask when she doesn't have to look at him and can instead stand beneath his wing, sheltered from the storm, scratching at the soft skin beneath his scales with careful fingertips.  
  
"There will be no victory for any involved. I cannot say what might happen and Solace keeps her wisdom to herself these days to leave us all to speculate but the world would be chaos. Would you call that victory?"  
  
It takes her longer than she would like to realise his question isn't rhetorical. "No, if it goes as we fear then there may be too few of any of us left with a poisoned, blackened world of ash."  
  
"We who carry fire in our hearts know the devastation of any flame lit without care," Confgra rumbles and she takes it as agreement.  
  
"What if...what if there were another way?"  
  
"Treaties have failed child."  
  
"Not a treaty. Well of a sort," she bites her lip and pauses in her petting of his side. "It would be like Moja and Bevislang but instead of banding together to fight, it would be to leave the mainland, to go to the islands. Any who wish to go – human, elf, nymph, dwarf, dragon, even the giants, the ogres – those who wanted another life, we would go somewhere else-"  
  
"To the islands?" Confgra questions and she can't read his tone at all. "Oh child," he murmurs after a long pause and a lump forms in her throat, the slippery taste of tears already at the back of her tongue, "they would hunt you even if you could organise an exodus, they would sabotage you even if you tried and we cannot abandon our home."  
  
"So you will not even try?" Her voice is almost swallowed by the wind. Confgra says nothing so she pulls up the hood of her cloak and marches away, ignoring his voice as it follows her down the mountain path. He's right of course but she hates it and the futility of all of this. She speaks to no one, ignores everyone who calls her as she makes her way into the Fangs, kicking off her boots and cloak, bolting the door firmly behind her.  
  
It's been years since she last curled up in a ball, not crying but close to it, a clenching pain in her stomach that makes it hard to breathe, shivering and sweating, scrubbing furiously at her face with her hands. Even though it's early in the day she falls into uneasy dreams of Oran's body burning, sap popping and sizzling instead of blood, of Ilea with her throat torn open and a look of pain and horror on her face, the faces of her parents and Brynjar on spikes, Torrin and her children shackled. She jerks awake, soaked with sweat but doesn't scream.  
  
She learned years ago to never make a sound.  
  
Her mother is outside her door when she finally emerges again. Her face is still puffy, her eyes and nose both red and her throat hurts in a way that suggests speaking and swallowing will be painful and for a bleary moment she thinks she might be indulged until Ragna opens her mouth.  
  
"Confgra," she begins and Tanis knows that tone so well, the impending fury barely restrained because she's heard herself use the same tone more often than she cares to count, " _Confgra_ sent word with a youngling that you and he spoke and that you stormed off and he worried if you made it home. This after the incident your father won't speak of to me or even Brynjar – he says he respects your right to privacy and that when the time is right you'll be the one to tell us. Tanis what's wrong?"  
  
It makes her want to scream, to set something on fire, to punch the walls until her knuckles bleed but the laughter that escapes her is probably worse and no doubt confirms whatever fears are brewing in her mother's mind. "Honestly?"  
  
"Honestly," the older woman echoes.  
  
"Everything. Dragons are dying, our people are dying, Bevislang is lost, I'm teaching my children things I should never have to teach my children-" Drawing to a shuddering stop, she uses the doorframe to hold herself up. "I wake and wonder if it will be the last time I see any of you and if one day you'll be dead or in shackles." It's perhaps more honesty than was expected for Tanis isn't usually so forward with her emotions now, stamping them down with long practice so that they normally explode the way they did with her father.  
  
"Tanis," her mother says and she moves to allow her into the room. She doesn't want to have this discussion in public. "I know it must seem so hopeless-"  
  
"Because that's what it is," she interrupts hotly but of course her mother moves calmly to make the rumpled mess of a bed before sitting on it, patting the spot next to her.  Tanis considers being an obstinate mule about it and standing throughout but she gives in and takes a seat beside her mother and misses the days when they had time to talk and laugh and braid their hair.  
  
"Tanis, this is not what any of us wished for you or for Torrin, Gudrun and Gunnar but we are not always the masters of our own destinies and our attempts at true ceasefires – you mentioned Moja."  
  
"There has to be something more than this, than throwing our bodies against a damned wall!"  
  
Her mother tugs her, shifting down the bed until Tanis can rest her head in her lap, slender fingers combing through her hair. As ever her mother smells like herbs and flowers from her work, a comforting balm and it was always her mother she went to when she was small and frightened, tucking her head into her sweet-smelling throat to be soothed back to sleep. "We're losing so much, I don't know how we'll rebuild should we be able to in the future, trying to keep what we have, keep our traditions when the elders are fighting us about what we should celebrate, about this that and the next thing. They're saying that the time for nobles ruling is ended and that they should be the ones to make the decisions, that the nobles are different to the royalty. They think that the nobility that remain care nothing for the people." Guilt over her argument with her father chokes her and she jumps beneath her mother's palm. "None of you would agree, they tried to hold a vote on it and failed, the Dragon Knights remain loyal and the dragons support us but without Solace..."  
  
There's a long silence that neither of them seem to know how to break and Tanis longs to be back fighting because she can do that, she can hold her sword and shield, she can summon her magic and fight her way through elves and dwarves with more ease than sitting back. She's become used to that life. She doesn't fit into her old one anymore, doesn't know where she fits at all outside of her role and strategy meetings.  
  
"It's been years since you last did this," she finally says because every day could be her last with the people she loves and she doesn't want to waste precious moments with silence.  
  
"You were about to have the twins, uncomfortable and angry. You threw things at Torrin's head and called him the worst things. Poor boy spent hours in the forge pacing and wondering how to placate you."  
  
"Ilea and Oran were here too."  
  
"I miss them both, it's been at least a year since I last saw Oran. I hear she speaks to you often."  
  
Tanis is glad her mother can't see her face right now, her eyes screwed shut as if it'll help blot out the memories of those days or help her lie if she's pushed. "We talk when we can," she says carefully. She's never been able to lie to her mother – Ragna is either too good or she feels too guilty and gives herself away. "She keeps me up to date with the events from Borea's other borders and the news the other nymphs carry and I tell her the same with us. There's little else we can do for one another but at least I can see her."  
  
"I won't ask you of Ilea, I'm not cruel," her mother says after a minute of comforting sounds. "But I know you sleep alone when you could have who you wished – you are still loyal after all this time?"  
  
"Yes," Tanis croaks, curling up and bringing one fist to her mouth to bite down hard enough to leave white indentations in the skin.  
  
It's the way her mother's fingers pause, the soft sound she makes in the back of her throat and oh she _knows_.  
  
"Oh darling girl," her mother croons. Relief floods through her because her mother isn't angry, she isn't shouting, she's just there, her steady presence all around Tanis until she can breathe more easily and compose herself, sitting up. She feels oddly numb down one side as she gets to her feet, rubbing at her left arm and leg to get the circulation back.   
"Wash your face and change your clothes," she's instructed and she nods, moving stiffly to her wardrobe. "Once you're done come join me in our chambers – I'm sure you don't remember the last time you ate."  
  
"Yes mother," she replies and all at once she is seventeen again, rolling her eyes with a sullen voice and a little smirk.  
  
She takes her time getting dressed, composing herself, smoothing out the little tangles her mother left behind but she feels lighter for the time they spent together, a sort of indulgence they can seldom afford now. She's the same with the twins when she gets the chance but more often they're asleep now, sharing a bed because they're small and scared and she sits with them to watch their chests rise and fall, stroking their hair with hands that feel too clumsy. It's something she and Torrin have spoken about because he does it too, more often than her given that he lives in the Fangs all year round, a strange reticence in their touch – Tanis' hands have killed, she has blood on them for good or ill and Torrin forges weapons of war – as if they might pass that violence on to their children. It's ridiculous and in the light of day when the children are simply excited to have a parent devoting all their time and energy to them it can be put aside but it's harder when they're sleeping, when they're wondering what they might be dreaming of. They can only be sheltered so much but it's never enough for her, a careful balance between making sure they'll stay alive and not scarring them with knowledge they aren't ready for. She's lucky she was an adult when this began, not a little girl. She'll need to spend time with them after her recent tempers and resolves to find a good story that has as little to do with fighting as possible to read to them after their baths. As ever, she knocks when opening her parents' chambers because she has no wish to scar herself for life or intrude upon a private moment even if she's been told to meet her mother there.  
  
Brynjar is the one to open the door and immediately he pulls her close and she manages to squirm enough to narrow her eyes at her mother – of course the woman planned this, especially with Brynjar around and she simply counts herself lucky that she isn't dealing with all three of them. As it is, she hugs Brynjar back and then suffers him holding her at arm's length to study her critically. Brynjar has always been the steadfast supportive one, content to let Hákon take the lead with ruling given that Brynjar isn't of noble blood but the one better at leading soldiers. Brynjar is quietly confident compared to the brashness of her father who likes to inspire with bold words whereas Brynjar uses facts; if her father is the heart, Brynjar is the head and her mother is the soul, a careful balancing act, all of them complementing each other and she cannot imagine being raised by any other combination.  
  
"Done taking after your father?" He asks, tugging her in the direction of the table and her stomach growls before she even smells the food because her mother was right, she doesn't remember when she last sat down and ate.  
  
"Brynjar," she and her mother complain in unison and he holds up his hands as he takes a seat.  
  
"Where is my father?" Tanis asks as she forgets her manners and reaches for a bowl of thick vegetable broth and a hunk of bread.  
  
"Meeting with the council of elders again," Brynjar explains with an exasperated sigh, rubbing his brow as he takes his seat. "Ragna said she explained some of what you've missed being away fighting but the elders believe that they get to make the decisions because there are more of them and they're elected from the people. They say that the nobles are important as a matter of strong bloodlines given that they're at least connected to the lost royal lines but that they should be figures and not the ones making decisions." She nods to show her understanding and she's glad she's too busy eating to voice an opinion after what her mother told her. It isn't right that her father is there alone and she's surprised that Brynjar is here instead of with him as they tend to be as Fated Ones when important discussions are taking place. It's Brynjar's right to be there and her mother's too as mother of his child. Then again, at least one remains here in the Fangs now to make sure someone in a position of power is present should they be needed.  
  
"They still say he cares nothing for the common folk," her mother adds, adding more bread to Tanis' plate as she finishes the first hunk. "I think they forget who he lies with each night."  
  
"And they say he's untried still even though he's a Dragon Knight who survived training and trials and who has led us in this war thus far."  
  
"They say that?" She asks in horror, looking between the two of them.  
  
"We didn't wish for you to be burdened with this when fighting but things are not going well here," Ragna says gently, looking down at her lap.  
  
"What else is there?" Tanis demands quietly, setting her spoon down with a clink.  
  
"The elders in Jormsen believe that they should be the highest authority over all humans in Stjarnacado, that all artefacts be brought here, that decisions made here should govern what happens elsewhere." Brynjar swallows carefully and his pale face is drawn making the dark circles beneath his eyes – sleepless nights are a common problem shared by all the races now – stand out even more. "They say Solace has abandoned us."  
  
The thought is so abhorrent it turns her stomach and she pushes back from the table to drop her head between her knees, taking slow careful breaths until it passes.  
  
"How can they countenance such a thing? Solace above all other dragons has given us so much! And now she has lost her young and the dragons have not bred – she is in mourning!"  
  
"I know," Brynjar's deep voice is calm but his eyes are bright and sharp, fixed on her. "Breathe. Control the fire Tanis, do not let it control you."  
  
She has to make herself nod but she manages, taking short breaths in through her nose until she can breathe more deeply again. "Will the people listen to them?"  
  
"They're tired. It's been a long war," her mother answers, exhaustion creeping into her sad voice. "They want it to end, I think they'd do anything for the promise of something better."  
  
"I agree. They want what they lost or as close to it as they can get – they're losing homes, livestock and crops, kith and kin. Don't you want the same?"  
  
She thinks of Ilea's words, of the situation now and wonders what the dragons know and if they are giving up the fight. She looks between her mother and Brynjar and thinks of Confgra and Solace, her father, Torrin, Sigrun, Gunhild, the children and Oran and imagines them somewhere else, somewhere better than this. Her smile is grim and resolute when she makes up her mind to no longer keep her visits to Borea a secret. She can no longer sit idly by when they are now set to destroy themselves.  
  
"I have an idea – not mine alone and it seemed a mad dream until I heard this. When my father returns I will speak of it."


	4. Chapter 4

In the end it's not just her parents and Brynjar who meet her. Sigrun, Gunhild and Torrin are present too and that makes it that much more daunting to really put into words what it is that she needs and wants to say. Her father at least knows of Ilea, her mother and Brynjar either know – she has no idea if he'd want to or even be capable of keeping that secret she more or less confirmed in their argument to himself – or suspect because her mother was right. There hasn't been another since Ilea, it's only Ilea that she wants and only Ilea that she sees when she can for ever more fleeting moments. She isn't ashamed of what she feels but she's afraid. Humans were just as bad as the elves with the Moja-Bevislang accord, slaying their own as well as elves for the crime of daring to be allies and to show a united front. That is what she wishes to achieve here. Hopefully no one will demand she have her head removed from her shoulders (it makes a hot flash of guilt scald her cheeks but that is what war has done to her, it's made her expect betrayal and to have no hope whatsoever) or be marched off to join the elves if she loves one so damn much. Her father has said he'll be in her corner and where he leads, Brynjar follows and her mother _loves_ her.  
  
But Sigrun and Torrin are skilled with weapons, strong from their hours in the forge and Gunhild trained all the fighters in the room. She thinks she has every right to be afraid of what one moment of anger and outrage might do to her.  
  
"There is no easy way to say what I must today," she begins, rising to her feet with her hands flat on the table to support her, "But we all know the situation with the elders and what remains of the nobility as my father previously discussed." All the heads in the room nod and she's glad to see that they all look as unimpressed with the actions of the elders as she does. "I spoke recently to Confgra about Solace and how she has withheld her wisdom from us out of grief and I speak regularly with Oran about the situation within Borea and their other borders. The situation is not good – dragons are not courting or mating and since records began this is the longest gap between clutches. We are dying, they are dying, we are having to train the young to be that which they should not be and we cannot keep warring with one another indefinitely."  
"We know all this Tanis," Gunhild says when Tanis pauses for a moment to allow others to voice their opinions. "I trained you, I know that you're hesitating. Speak plain and let us all hear what you have to say."  
"Then I ask for all of you not to interrupt me. Please." Her palms are too hot and damp and she lifts them from the table to rub them against the legs of her trousers, exhaling a quiet shaking sigh. "It is not only Oran that I meet in Borea. When time permits," she forces herself not to quaver, to carry on as she does when speaking a battle plan to her men and women, "I meet with Ilea."  
  
Above the roar in her ears she can hear nothing, dropping her head forward to look at her hands flat upon the table once more until her father banging her fist against it makes her jump.  
  
"I will have silence!" He shouts and upon risking a glance she can see the red tinge of anger on his cheeks – she gets that from him, she's been told that enough times in the past.  
"You knew of this?" Sigrun demands, looking between Tanis and Hákon with suspicion and then to Torrin who is staring only at Tanis. She can't read the set of his jaw or shoulders, not as he sits back more comfortably than anyone else, arms folded, hands clutching his biceps.   
"Only recently," her father continues and that seems to satisfy something in Sigrun for she turns her attention to Tanis alone.  
"How dare you consort with the enemy!"  
"Ilea is not the enemy!" Tanis snaps back, spitting the words from behind clenched teeth.   
"She is an elf-"  
"And not every elf is an enemy," she continues, talking over Sigrun's protests. "She is the woman I love and she wishes to see this war ended as much as any of us."  
"She plays you like a fool," Sigrun retorts and rising to her feet, her anger making her clumsy.   
"Wait," Gunhild murmurs, a hand on Sigrun's arm to keep her in place. Torrin twitches, ready to intervene though to whose aid, Tanis cannot say. "Do you trust her as you would one of your fellow soldiers?" The question would make Tanis smile if the situation were different but this isn't the time for smiles even as she feels the tension bleeding out of her.  
"Yes. I do. Ilea and I have never been able to lie to one another, have we?"  
"I always thought you were Fated Ones myself, the dragons wouldn't confirm one way or the other, they only smiled." Brynjar's words allow her to crack the smallest of grins even though she doubts Fated Ones can ever be from other races – it's never happened before, not in all the long, long years since Áki and Stígandr were first lauded as such but now isn't the time to argue the point. Besides, the idea of it is a coiling warmth that spreads out to her fingers and toes.  
  
"Ilea loves her." It's Torrin who speaks, rising to his feet and sometimes she forgets just how big Torrin is, taller than Brynjar now, broad shoulders, muscled arms and chest, favouring Sigrun's heavier features. He takes her hands in his, smiling softly at his mother. "You forget that I was with Tanis when she had our children, Ilea loved her then and a war won't stop her from loving her now. I don't want the children to lose all of us because that's what this war is going to come to in the end. Do you want that mother?"  
Sigrun scowls, twists away but Torrin holds her tight, raising an eyebrow. "No," she whispers, the fight leaving her.   
"Then sit down and _listen_ \- you are her family too through me and the children." To lessen the sting of his words he bends to kiss her temple, nodding at Gunhild when Sigrun finally takes her seat once more.  
  
When it becomes clear that no one else has anything much to say at this moment in time, Tanis clears her throat and wishes she'd thought to bring a drink because her mouth is dry, her tongue clumsy in her mouth or maybe that's the nerves. Alcohol would help settle those too if that were the case. At last though she gathers herself and knows what she has to say. "We all know the stories of those who sail east."  
"That they leave and never return," Ragna finishes and all eyes are now on Hákon. It's no secret that his mother Maren sailed away with his father, uncle and his uncle's eldest son – not a word has been heard of them since nor any who venture into the uncharted waters. Even the dragons say that their own kin who went east were never heard of again, an unknowable uncharted expanse filled with all sorts perhaps or maybe nothing, sailing until they died and their ships reached the ends of the world.   
"There are stories that have been heard," her father continues, rubbing a hand over his chin, "Stories carried by the mermaids and sirens and passed on to the water nymphs that there are many islands that can be reached."  
"We cannot do this on stories," Brynjar murmurs, brows drawn.  
"We cannot stay here forever unless we wish to fight to the last man and lose everything," Tanis answers sadly, taking her seat when her knees start to buckle. She's never felt like this before, like she's there but not there, everything hazy and distant, a tingling like the warning signs of pins and needles rolling over her skin like waves.   
"But that's the only plan? Go east?" Brynjar asks and she sighs and nods, not knowing what else there is to say – she can't say anything, that's all the plan is really.  
"Confgra doubted me," she admits when the silence falls again. "If I could talk to Solace-"  
"But Solace talks to no one," Sigrun finishes, leaning forward against the table, chin resting on her hands. "She mourns and that's all we know. Ferrum sent some of the last hatched clutch to see her and she gave them no sign."   
"I didn't know it was as bad as that," Tanis whispers, looking around the room for confirmation but no one will meet her eyes.  
"We can't leave it like this though but we need a real plan here," Torrin murmurs, leaning back and tilting his chin skyward as he thinks. "Do you have any way to get word safely to Ilea?"  
"I could ask Oran but I dislike the idea of putting her or others in danger needlessly."  
"I think this is the time," her mother says gently, "Where we have to take risks for something other than bloodshed. You brought us all here and told us this for a reason."  
  
"This is surrender." Gunhild flushes and Tanis knows it's shame because this is how she felt the first time she actually allowed herself to contemplate Ilea's mad idea. "We are contemplating the idea of abandoning our home-"  
"We're saving lives Gunhild!" It's her mother who shouts and Tanis can hear the crack in her voice that signals tears. "Do you know how many I have nursed only to watch them die anyway? How many I have been unable to save? I see their wounds, I hear them cry and moan and pray for aid I can't give them-" Both her father and Brynjar move to flank her as she balls her hands into fists. "The most I can do for them is hold their hand while the light leaves their eyes. I can't watch that happen until I too am slain. If I had to," she breaks off, a shuddering sob and the look of pain that the two men share is enough to have Tanis shoving in between them, holding her mother close the way her mother so often does for her. "I can't lose you," she whispers. "You are my darling girl, I can't see you coughing blood on my bed or watch them come back with your body."  
"I won't let that happen," Tanis vows the way she always does, the litany of promises that she'll come back that she makes each and every time she leaves the Fangs to rally her troops and lead them off to the next skirmish.  
"Darling girl," Brynjar pets the back of her neck, "Even the dragons can't keep such promises."  
"If you let me leave now, I can speak to Oran for longer than normal, we can plan. But I ask that this stay between us until we decide how to implement it." She waits for everyone to nod and agree, kisses her mother on the cheek and leaves at a seemly pace when really she wants to run.  
  
If she leaves now she can talk to Oran alone, she can figure out what she wants to say, how best they might do this and wonders if she can dare to hope. The only reason, she suspects, that any of this went so well in the first place is that she held absolutely no expectations in the first place.   
  
"Mama?"  
  
Two small voices speaking in unison stop her in her tracks and she turns sharply on her heel, hoping that she doesn't look wild or out of sorts. They all try to put on a brave face for the children even though everyone knows how easily children pick up on any tension and know when they're being lied to by adults. There's a young man with them who looks run ragged – her children have become obsessed with a certain story about two children (a brother and a sister) raised by wolves and like to race around growling and pouncing. It's a similar story to the one Brynjar told her and Torrin when they were a similar age, it's why she and Torrin told it to the twins with as many sound effects as possible.   
  
"Have you two been giving..." she trails off when her mind goes blank and it's ridiculous, she shouldn't feel embarrassed at forgetting someone's name when so much is going on and when she wanted to run off to Borea as fast as her legs could carry her.  
"Lárus," he provides quickly, ruffling Gudrun's hair when the girl giggles.  
"Lárus," she offers him a grateful smile as she drops to her knees to gather the children into her arms, "Any trouble?"  
The pause is all the indication she needs but they look between one another, Gunnar piping up first. " _No_ ," he drags the word out in a way that he probably thinks makes him sound innocent or that it's very obvious that they would _never_ be troublemakers. "We played together!"  
"He showed us how to build a snow fort," Gudrun adds, bouncing up and down and that would explain why their cheeks are so flushed and why the young man's hair is sticking up in all directions.  
"They have very good aim," he mumbles with as much dignity as possible. He's a knight in training, she's drilled him a few times and she wouldn't entrust the safety of her children to anyone else but their faces blur after a time, it's the only way to cope.   
"Why don't you go change your clothes, I'll dry them off and find you."  
"I'm in the east wing, second floor, I'll leave my door open."  
"Jernen," she replies and gets to her feet, holding out her hands for the children. "Say goodbye to Lárus."  
"Neh Lárus!" They chirp and he laughs, jogging off. Poor boy, she thinks, listening to the children chattering away merrily and she misses these moments.  
  
"What were you and grandma and grandpas talking about?" Gudrun asks when they reach the room, Tanis pointing in the direction of the bed. She takes longer than she needs to, picking out clean warm clothes for them and towels to dry them off.   
"And dad! And grandma Siggy and Gunhild!" Gunnar adds, kicking his legs against the bed as he speaks.  
"Things not meant for little ears," she answers and that's not an answer, it's an invitation. She counts down in her head, three, two, one—  
" _Why_?" They both whine in unison, their high voices grating in an instance such as this.  
"Because," she turns and brandishes fresh tunics first of all, "They were very boring things. You would have fallen asleep if you'd been there. Wet tunics."  
The twins share a look before they wriggle out of the wet tunics, the garments landing on the floor with slapping sounds. "You talk about boring things in front of us."  
"And to us," Gunnar sulks. "Grandpa Hákon talks about boring old men and women."  
"They were brave knights," Tanis counters, scooping the wet tunics up to place in the corner basket, handing them leggings and unsurprisingly she has to untie knotted bootlaces and tug the boots off their feet. "History is important Gunnar, I'm sure things you find exciting, a lot of others will find boring."  
She almost laughs at his horrified expression. "You like fighting, fighting is _bo-ring_ ," Gudrun sing-songs, making one word into two. Sometimes she's relieved that one of her children doesn't enjoy fighting even if she worries she can't relate to this little girl already. Tanis was like Gunnar, she liked to play fight, she loved going to watch the Dragon Knights train, she begged her father, Brynjar, Gunhild – anyone who would listen really – for tales of battles both real and imagined. Gudrun is too little to learn very much healing, didn't want to learn how to sew, draws silly pictures instead of practicing her letters – all she knows is that Gudrun adores the dragons. If Solace were still speaking, she would ask her to evaluate her and see if Gudrun showed signs of being one of the scribes who helped to teach young hatchlings, the ones who bonded with the dragons because only Solace can decide such things. But Solace is silent and now isn't the time. It's enough to get them through a month at a time, to know they're alive and happy.  
  
Soon enough they're dressed in warm clothes, thick woollen socks and simple slip-on shoes. She doesn't want them outside again today because they'll catch a chill in this weather.  
  
"Make a space," she says and they scoot apart so she can sit and wrap an arm around them, pulling them close. "Now, you know there is a war. And you know that I fight like grandpa Hákon and Brynjar while grandma Ragna heals and father and grandma Siggy work in their forge?"  
"And Gunhild trains people like Lárus?" Gudrun asks and Tanis nods.  
"Exactly so. Before the war, when you were still babies, not very long after I had you I was in love with someone named Ilea. She's a princess from Tishlen."  
"She's an elf?" Gunnar is the one to ask this time. Again, she nods. "But we're fighting them!"  
"I knew Ilea when I was young. Her, Oran and I were the best of friends and after I had the two of you and finished my training to become a Dragon Knight we courted – we were as close as your grandparents are, do you understand?"  
Gudrun frowns, pursing her lips. "Why aren't you and father like our grandparents?"  
"It's like Brynjar and Sigrun – we cared about each other and Dragon Knights are encouraged to have children before we finish the training because we have to be able to devote ourselves to our people and to the dragons." They're far too young to know how fraught with danger the last parts of the training are, how many die even when they've been prepared for it for years. "Do you understand now?"  
"I think so."  
"Good. When the war happened, Ilea had to fight with her people and I had to fight with ours and I told your grandparents that the war meant we would only see each other if we faced in battle and that I wouldn't hesitate to strike her." Gunnar wriggles and butts his head against her side, burrowing close so his face is against her clothing, effectively smothering his mumbles. "Sorry darling?"  
"Could you," he leans back just enough to make himself heard, "Kill her? You said you loved her. You would hurt her and you and dad said that people don't hurt the people they love."  
  
She remembers this conversation from when the twins had been fighting and Gunnar had hit Gudrun and how they had taken him aside to explain what he had done and why it was wrong.  
  
"I don't know," she admits. "My training would say that yes, we are enemies, we are at war and my loyalty should be to my people, to my home. But I lied to my parents and I've seen her as often as was safe in Borea. Oran acts as a sentry and well pass messages should we need to."  
"You still love her?" Gudrun whispers and Tanis feels her throat constrict.  
"I will always love Ilea, she is the only one I have ever loved in that way. I regret that you are too young to remember her – when I was pregnant she spent time with me, her and Oran, she used to laugh and tell you stories before you were even born." _She loved you both so much. She still thinks of you now and your safety._  
"Why do we fight each other?"   
"I don't know Gudrun, we fought to avenge the rulers who were slain and that should have been an end to it. We should have sat and talked but now I fear we've been fighting for so long that we can't imagine not fighting."  
"It isn't right. I don't want you to keep fighting." Gunnar sounds close to tears and she bends to kiss his head then Gudrun's, steeling herself.  
"What would you say if there was a way to leave. No more war but a new home."  
"Would you be there?" Gudrun sniffles, her eyes large and shining.  
"I would. And all who wished to leave the war behind would be there too."  
"A new home," they say in unison and she smiles, clutching them tight. Of course it all seems so simple to them – you don't fight because you forgot the reason you started really, the whole point of a fight to them is because someone hurt you and you want to hurt them back. But that still doesn't make you right and her _children_ know that and it boggles the mind that so many cannot understand that.  
"Would the elves come?" Gunnar asks after a while.  
"If they wanted to. Not every elf wants this war, it's the same as us and the nymphs."  
"What about the dwarves?" He presses and there she hesitates.  
"The dwarves stopped talking to any but the elves, they refused to come to any talks. If they heard and wished to come they would be welcome but I cannot imagine them leaving their empire for so long." And rumours persist now of friction between the elves and the dwarves, stories Ilea has spoken of several times now as well as the tension between Rella Regnai and Tishlen after the destruction of Moja. Rella Regnai is the strongest of the elven kingdoms though and none dare to stand against them. Vaile and Kokenavg have seen mass evacuations and she can't blame them; they are the only places where it's possible to set sail, not bounded by mountains like Jormsen, by the lava fields in the south or whatever lies beyond the forests of the west where no one dares to delve into too deeply, not with the noises that are said to come from them.  
  
"Come," she says at last, getting to her feet and taking the children by the hand. "I'm sure Lárus is missing you."  
  
After all, she has to plan how best to get a message to Ilea in the deep of winter and how she's going to orchestrate this foolish plan of theirs now that there are those who support it. The children are happy enough and tug her out the door, distracted at the thought of more time with their new playmate and she lets that ease the guilt of handing them over to someone else yet again. She's doing this for them, the sacrifices now will be worth it in the future.


	5. Chapter 5

By the time she reaches the meeting spot in Borea it's growing dark but she knows the path well enough that she has no need of a lantern or the flickering flames of fire magic to help guide her. Someone would see and no doubt ask questions or speculate and with the heightened tensions between nobles and elders here, it's not the time for such things, even if she's only going to see Oran. She picks her way carefully down the boundaries, listens for the wolves but even the animals have been subdued and so many of them are sick now from drinking or eating poisoned flesh. A giant watches her and she raises a hand in acknowledgement – they have been hurt too, gentle hulking creatures suddenly finding themselves bound by hooked ropes and killed or great pits opening below them. She picks up the pace and soon the snows no longer encroach beyond the tree line, the air humid enough to have her throwing back her hood. The soft whispering language of the wood nymphs surrounds her but she pays no heed to it; tonight there is one purpose and one alone and that is to find Oran and discuss getting a message to Ilea. So she waits, taking a seat on a stump with fungi growing from the sides, removing her cloak to fold it on her lap. As ever it amazes her how it always feels like spring here though the boughs of Borea are no longer as welcoming as they once were. The trees towards the outskirts and nightmarish tangles of branches and thorns, there are roots to trip over, far more vines than ever before, scrubby brush full of needles that catch and tangle on clothing – all of this is to keep them safe, to slow the advance of forces through the woods who might seek to enter Jormsen this way. The air feels more oppressive but she reminds herself that it's bitterly cold in Jormsen, one of the coldest winters they can remember and that her dragon heart keeps her warm, enough so that in somewhere already warm, it takes her time to compensate when she's wrapped so tightly in her winter clothing.  
  
Soon Oran appears, delicate white and lilac tipped flowers budding over her skin, winter tears as they're known in the north. Tanis leaps to her feet and hugs her close, feels bark digging into her skin even through her many layers, one of her cheeks tingling and raw by the time they pull apart. Oran's gotten taller again, she realises and her bark is more worn – nymph aging doesn't work the same as with humans or elves and she would ask but she needs to tell Oran what she came here to say instead of being able to enjoy time with her friend.  
  
"I have a favour to ask of you Oran though I am uneasy about what it is I would need you to do," she begins once their greetings are over.  
  
"Tanis you and Ilea both know," Oran sounds exasperated yet there's a very present fondness in her voice, "that I would help both of you meet and I always pass on your messages."  
  
"I need a message to have Ilea meet me here as soon as possible. So we can take her to Jormsen."  
  
Oran is quiet for a few minutes. Tanis wouldn't blame her for declining to take part in any of this. "Why are you taking her to Jormsen?"  
  
"I spoke with my family – Ilea's plan? We have to, it's the only- I would see this war end if I could but it looks set to continue and Ilea's idea to leave...it is our best option. If we can plan it, if we can make enough listen."  
  
"Leaving the mainland," Oran murmurs and the forest seems to close in around them. "How would you do it?"  
  
"That's why I need to get Ilea to come here but I can hardly march down to Tishlen. I thought that you could send a message to water nymphs? I know some still inhabit the waterways near the palace where Ilea goes to practice her archery." Come rain, hail, snow or shine, Tanis knows that Ilea practices each and every day unless she's unable to get out of bed or lift her bow.  
  
"I could do that," Oran agrees, a smile on her face. "Has Solace spoken?"  
  
"No," Tanis admits, frowning and adjusting her hold on the cloak. "The only dragon I've spoken to lately was Confgra. He..." she trails off and Oran's knowing look means she doesn't have to finish and make herself uncomfortable by speaking poorly of a dragon.  
  
"I understand."  
  
"Would your people leave?"  
  
"It would be hard for us," Oran replies quickly, "our history, our roots, are here but in times where all is well, we can outlive everyone but the dragons should we need to and we have already lost too many to their fear and grief – you've seen the new pools and lakes, the way rivers are swollen, how dense the forest is. This world is changed and I can't see it changing back soon, can you?" Tanis shakes her head sadly, squeezing Oran's arm, mindful of the petals and the promising forms of new buds. "We could come back-"  
  
"If we go east, no one comes back."  
  
"None of _you_ come back, we never followed the same rules." From anyone else it would be a reprimand but coming from Oran it sounds like teasing and the pink on Tanis' cheeks has nothing to do with the heat.  
  
"You would have to leave the Old Mother behind," Tanis reminds her gently. The ways of the nymphs are more rooted than any others and they stand to lose so much more of their history if they depart across the seas to the east with all the rest who will go with them.  
  
"Perhaps not," Oran murmurs with a tilt of her head.  
  
"What?" Tanis asks but Oran purses her lips and folds her arms, the thoughtful look in her eyes gone.  
  
"That is something for nymphs alone to know – when do you wish to meet Ilea?"  
  
"As soon as is possible. Our best chance is when the thick of winter is still upon us."  
  
Oran nods, embracing Tanis, her limbs and skin creaking with the movements. "You should go before you are missed, I will get her message to you."  
  
"Thank you my friend. I know this puts you and others at risk-"  
  
"We're always at risk," Oran interrupts. "There's a war. We would gladly do what we can in the name of peace."  
  
Thus follows one of the longest weeks of her life. She paces restlessly, drills men and women, annoys her children by becoming distracted and drifting off in the middle of their stories, becomes the subject of her parent's amusement until Brynjar has to drag her off, sit her down on the cold stone floor of one of the quiet chambers at the top of a tower to help her to meditate. There's talk about her from many parties – Torrin hears it because everyone who stops by the forge to gossip with him says so – but they believe she's anxious to get back into the fight. She wonders sometimes what would happen if they knew the truth but tries to put it behind her until a young water nymph appears, her body hardening to ice as she runs barefoot to the Fangs.  
  
"Tonight," is all she says before she's gone again and Tanis simply nods and tries her best to make it through the day. Ilea must have set off as soon as she got word because even in good weather and travelling at a fair pace each day it takes much longer than a week to reach the borders of Borea. Elves could travel by dark though and Ilea doesn't need to sleep just as much as Tanis who herself doesn't need as much sleep as another human, not when she pushes herself but still, she tries to picture Ilea, exhausted and shivering, trudging her way through the snow. Her heart soars at the thought of seeing her again but the cold weight of dread drags the bottom of her stomach down. She meditates most of the day, feeling too sick and unsettled to eat until her mother forces her to down a bowl of broth.  
  
"Whatever is wrong with you today, you need it," is all she says and then hands her a crust of bread even as Tanis glowers up at her and mumbles that she's no longer a child.  
  
Hours later though she's grateful for it when she's trudging down the same path to Borea that she took a week ago, trying to run through the snow although it's made difficult by the fact that she has a bag slung over her back with spare clothes and food and drink. What she has planned means that Ilea will need her strength and if she's forced herself to get to Borea in the space of a week she's probably drained and exhausted, stupid elf that she is. Still, it's a good sign even if the haste it inspires in Tanis means that she falls more than once, cursing under her breath at the weather. She can hear laughter and that's a good sign so she picks herself up and it's probably Oran's doing that there are no bushes or roots or piles of old leaves to trip her up as she staggers into the small clearing they meet in, her footsteps echoing. Ilea looks worn but happy, her pale cheeks pink, sitting on an old log beside Oran and when she looks up, she's all Tanis sees for a long moment, her breath caught in her throat before she can speak. Even then she spends far too long fumbling with the leather pack she brought with her, finding the food her father brought (she'd thought her mother or Brynjar would be the one to provide it but he appeared as she was packing to leave, handed it over, wished her luck and kissed her brow) and the water skin.  
  
"Thank you," Ilea says because as soon as she realises Tanis is bringing her food all three of them can hear her stomach growling.  
  
"Foolish elf," Tanis mutters when she marches over to hand the food to her, sitting on Ilea's other side but she can't resist leaning in for a quick kiss.  "How did you get here in a week?"  
  
"I said there were rumours of a human willing to betray vital secrets," Ilea replies around a mouthful of cured meat, "it's happened elsewhere and there were delegates from other cities and outposts present so they were all too happy to send me away. My parents need to save face in front of the others given the tensions with the west."  
  
"When do they expect you back?"  
  
"I said I would be thorough. They're thinking of marrying me off," she mumbles, taking the water skin from Tanis to gulp it down greedily. Something possessive claws at Tanis and she finds herself grinding her teeth. "Oh believe me, I'd run before they married me off even if it meant leaving the armies and the war. I have more than done my duty thus far, I refuse to marry someone and be expected to act as a bargaining chip between our kingdoms. They're trying to negotiate now so they can win against the humans and nymphs," she explains.  
  
"Divide up the spoils of war and hope it smoothes ruffled feathers?" Oran guesses, Tanis thinking the same as the nymph says and Ilea nods. "Then let us hope that our Dragon Knight has a good plan to avoid an alliance united under a renewed sense of purpose."

"Before we speak of that – the dwarves will speak only through the west so if you think the dwarves might listen or aid, I would sincerely doubt that."  
  
Despite what she said to her children not long ago, there's a moment of satisfaction Tanis allows herself to savour at the news. The dwarves have done the more despicable crimes here with their poisons and Tanis is glad (even if some part of her knows she should perhaps not be) that she can remove them from the plans. "I brought food and drink because I need you to come to Jormsen."  
  
"Oran said as much."  
  
"I thought it best to save time here by telling her all that you told me," the nymph explains.  
  
"Thank you – yes, I brought clothes," she shows Ilea the pack she has with thicker, warmer human garb within, "and food because we're not going to the Fangs first. I want to climb Dragetro and speak with Solace."  
  
As expected they stare at her as though she's taken leave of her senses. Solace's silence is spoken of throughout all the lands and Tanis has told Ilea and Oran more than any others outside of the Dragon Knights and the people of Jormsen know.  
  
"You said she would not speak – that the highest peak of Dragetro is impassable?" Ilea whispers.  
  
"She hasn't spoken but she might listen," Tanis answers carefully, studying her hands as they fiddle with the leather straps of her pack. "And if you are careful, there is a way to scale the final peak of the mountain and given my last discussion with Confgra about losses, I do not think she would let us fall were something to happen."  
  
"That is a very large risk to take," Oran cautions and Tanis nods.  
  
"I can go alone – Ilea will be safe with my family and Oran you are always welcome in Jormsen but to have any plan approved I would need her aid and to make her listen to me."  
  
"Do you think that for one minute I would let you go alone?" Ilea asks fiercely, grabbing Tanis by the chin so they're eye to eye and nose to nose, "this was my plan, I would see it bear fruit or wither with my own eyes."  
  
"You two would get nowhere without me, I'm coming too," Oran adds and though her tone is solemn, there is a small, grave smile on her face.  
  
"I have asked so much of you both." Tanis feels overcome by this, dropping her head to her chest when Ilea lets go of her. "So much risk and for what?"  
  
"For hope," Ilea replies gently, taking Tanis by the chin once more but with a more delicate, careful grasp. "Come, I've eaten, I've had something to drink – time to put on my disguise is it not?" Before Tanis can say anything she hands back the water skin and takes hold of the pack, hopping over the log to start to undress. It takes a while with the weapons she has to remove first and the overly complicated (Tanis always complains about this) elven garb she wears, swearing every so often. "Can you—" She looks over her shoulder and Tanis pretends to sigh and grumble but she's all too happy to help.  
  
"Don't get distracted!" Oran reminds them and she sounds very much like she's holding in giggles but the gravity of the situation is enough that Tanis doesn't look more than she needs to, doesn't pull Ilea close to run her hands over her soft skin and slender muscles, doesn't do more than help her into the thicker human clothes she brought.  
  
"I had to guess what might fit you. You're taller than I am but slimmer," she says to make sure she doesn't lean in and kiss Ilea because the clothes are simple and old, rough spun tunics and trousers, thick woollen socks, old leather boots and a fur-lined cloak but something about seeing Ilea in the garb of her people stirs something in her.  
  
She can investigate tonight when they're in the Fangs. After all, Ilea will have to stay with Tanis for her own safety.  
  
"Well? How do I look?" Ilea asks when they're done and ready to be on the move, tugging the hood of the cloak up.  
  
"Beautiful," Tanis replies honestly because she does even if the clothes hang far too loose on Ilea's frame making her look like a boy in hand-me-downs.  
  
"Let's be off then before we lose our resolve," Oran says and off they go, out of Borea, over the borders and mountains and into Jormsen proper where Ilea slips one of her hands into Tanis'. She can understand how nervous Ilea must be because she could easily be tortured and killed if discovered by the wrong people; Tanis is under no illusions about what her father would have to allow even if it broke his heart and hers to do it when he's their leader now. Added to that, the last time Ilea was here it was a happy event and they could walk freely instead of sneaking like thieves.  
  
Smuggling Ilea into Jormsen is the wildest thing she has ever done although there was never much time for wildness once she grew up – she had her children, she and Ilea courted and then war broke out and she put on her armour and became the sword and shield of her people. Her heart is pounding the whole time and every gust of wind could spell betrayal as she escorts Ilea inside, glancing back to make sure there are none behind her as Ilea tugs the hood of her cloak more securely about her face. They skirt around homes and past the sentries as they stick to the shadows. The dragons are roosting but they make sure to avoid their nests and resting places anyway as they begin to climb up the mountain paths. These are the least fortified mountains given that they are the most northerly points of the mainland – they were guarded before because of their eggs and now with no new nests and dragons simply sleeping where they always had, there is no need to protect anything. If the elven and dwarven faces make it this far then everything will be lost already so she climbs grimly with flames cupped in one hand to guide her. None of them speak to each other beyond whispers to watch their step, Oran and Ilea showing some signs of strain before Tanis. They're not used to just how cold the wind is here, the way it howls like a monstrous creature that wants nothing more than to flay people alive.  
  
"How do you-" Ilea huffs, her hood shoved back now, snow and sweat plastering her hair to her face, "do this?"  
  
"I thought elves were strong and resilient with stamina Ilea?" Oran calls over the wind before Tanis can answer which is just as well because she's laughing and unable to speak.  
  
"We don't," she puffs, "have mountains like this in Tishlen."  
  
"No," Tanis agrees, "You have hills don't you? It isn't much farther, come on."  
  
"We used to climb these as girls Ilea," Oran adds. Tanis can remember those days where they would wrestle with hatchling dragons and listen to those still inside their eggs chirping away. Perhaps one day they can do so again if this works.  
  
She draws them to a halt as dawn breaks, the indigo sky meeting the pink of a new morning, the purple of a fresh bruise where they meet with the undersides of clouds streaked orange. They'll need to climb hand and foot up to the point of the mountain where Solace roosts and Tanis can just make out her black scales glimmering in the distance. She mutters a prayer under her breath then turns to give her companions and friends what she hopes is an encouraging smile.  
  
"Be careful, don't rush," she instructs, dropping her pack because she won't need it. "Anything you don't need, leave them here Ilea." The elf nods, setting down her bow and quiver down, Tanis leaving her sword with it. "No one will touch these."  
  
"Only our bodies when we fall tumbling to our deaths." Ilea mutters. Tanis should be annoyed or should reply but she laughs quietly.  
  
"Here," Oran offers and there are vines coiling around Tanis then Ilea from her own limbs. "It should tether us better, allow some security."  
  
Tanis nods and steps forward, Ilea behind and Oran bringing up the rear. "Ready?" She asks, looking back at their grim, determined faces.  
  
"Ready," they answer together and so she begins to climb, fingers finding places to grip tight, their pace slow and steady. It's a rumour put about by many that Solace's peak is impossible to scale but it's false – humans have gone up before and in truth the finger and toeholds are actually ancient steps that Solace had carved into the mountain, worn by time and covered by snow and ice in places making the climb treacherous. They were made so that it is easier to descend from the mountain. Scaling to the very peak of Dragetro is a challenge and only those whose need is greatest will manage. They're sweating and grunting, rocks falling away in places and there's a long horrible mountain when Ilea slips and yells, her voice echoing in the early morning air but Tanis pulls up and Oran steadies herself and once she's had a moment to breathe she is able to keep climbing until at last, giddy and breathless, Tanis hauls herself up to the plateau before the mountain rises in a jagged spike obscured by clouds, pulling Ilea and Oran up after her. They all fall flat on their backs, chests heaving when suddenly Solace looms over them.  
  
Solace is the largest of all dragons save the dragon that carries Stjarnacado on its back as the stories go, black as polished obsidian with golden eyes in her natural form, peering down at them with an unreadable expression. Tanis scrambles to kneel, elbow resting on one knee, head down as she greets Solace, Oran rustling and inclining her head; she is surprised when Ilea bows the same as she does rather than in the elven fashion but she's immensely grateful for it and looks over to her, their eyes meeting as they share small, tentative smiles.  
  
"Why do you disturb me fire-daughter, bow-child and forest-kin?" Solace asks in her deep mournful voice, uncoiling herself from around the jagged peak and stretching out her wings to block out the sky behind her.  
  
"We come seeking aid o mighty Solace, mother of all," Tanis replies and dares to stand. "I know that you grieve and I apologise for intruding upon that but this war has gone on far too long. We are all suffering and dying, my people, Ilea's people, Oran's people and the dragons I share a heart with."  
  
"You think I do not know child?"  
  
"That is not what she said," Ilea states, stepping forward to stand next to Tanis. "I know that my people and their alliances have done so much wrong but that is why I have come with Tanis and with Oran, to offer something that will not put things right-"  
  
"What has been done can never be put to rights," Solace replies. "I lost my young."  
  
"As have all others," Oran reminds her bluntly, folding her arms. "Yet the Old Mother has not maintained the same silence as you when we needed her. You have been selfish."  
  
Tanis is aghast, stricken with panic and horror, mouth opening and closing but not a sound comes out and next to her Ilea's eyes are huge, all the blood draining from her face as Oran stands proud and tall as if challenging the dragon to prove her wrong. In the end though there is only a great rumbling sigh that shakes the ground beneath their feet.  
  
"Please, Solace, listen to us?" Tanis beseeches. "We cannot put things to rights but those of us who are of like minds can find new homes to rebuild."  
  
"The east," Ilea implores and she steps beyond Tanis to stand directly before Solace, seemingly unafraid. "How many islands might we make our homes? Those who live to the east of this land have departed in droves already – surely if any were to know if there is salvation in that it would be you?" She waits for answer but none is forthcoming and looks to Tanis worriedly.  
  
"Ilea is right. It would grieve me to leave so much behind but I have children and I would have them know a home that is happy and free of peril where the dragons fly unafraid and where we teach our young how to speak together as we once did."  
  
Solace is silent, looking out to the east with an unreadable expression as the three young women huddle together in the face of the prevailing wind that threatens to whip them away.  
  
"If it is east you wish to go, then we will aid all who wish to go. You will have no need of ships."  
  
So it ends like this: Solace calls all dragons to her and they come swiftly, holding court at Dragetro. Oran lies at the feet of the Old Mother in Borea to absorb her knowledge and memories into every pore and grows larger than she was before, branches extending out from her as her skin becomes weathered and marked by the ages she draws in. At the same time Tanis stands on the steps of the Fangs with Solace in her human form by her side, surrounded by her family as she talks of their plans and Ilea flies to Tishlen to do the same, calling down from a height arrows cannot reach. And then they fly south then west, the three of them together and word is sent to the east too and though Solace said they would have no need of ships, they are built anyway with the aid of dragons and all those who head there as soon as there is word. There are deaths from all the races because the path of peace is never smooth and too many are so stubborn, clinging to bitterness and anger but many come. The mass exodus to the east begins with Tanis, Ilea and Oran astride Solace's back as she leads dragons bearing many souls and the ships out to sea where they stop at island after island – Tanis had never imagined it would look like this.  
  
Behind them the dragons, under the direction of Solace, call forth their magics to make a great wall of shadow that they say will encircle the land they have abandoned.  
  
"Only those pure of will and heart will be able to pass through without danger," Solace explains, "for this will not be the only departure."  
  
There is much work to be done on each island. Maps that are hastily drawn in flight and plans made about where they can farm, who will learn to fish, what animals they might tame and how to divide up the beasts brought with them. Solace stops to rest on a small island, the air warmer than the south and smelling strongly of salt, the sands of the beach white from the sun. Tanis turns her face towards it and smiles, clutching Ilea's hand tight in hers.  
  
They will never return to their old home but they have peace and as she hears the laughter of her children splashing in the waves with the rest of her family and Oran, she knows that the sacrifice was worth it.  
  
"Come," she instructs Ilea, tugging her forward, "it's time you were introduced to my children properly."

**Author's Note:**

> Human native tongue - Norwegian influence - their earliest language was given up in exchange for the dragon language  
> Elven native tongue - Latin/English influence  
> Nymph native tongue - cannot be spoken by others, instead they learn the tongue of those they are closest to with nymphs of Borea speaking the human tongue
> 
> .words/slang  
> places  
> Jormsen - Serpentine [archaic] - named so in the proto-language of the humans [yormsen]  
> Dragetro - Dragon Throne [tro from Norwegian tronen], the mountain from which Solace descended  
> Bevislang - Winged snake [bevi from bevinget, Norwegian for winged, slang comes from slange, Norwegian for snake] [bevi-slang; 'e' as in head]  
> Drageskjold - Dragon Shield [drage - dragon, skjold - shield; both from Norwegian]  
> Kokenavg - Boiling Abyss [kokende - boiling, avgrunnen - abyss; both from Norwegian]  
> Stjarnacado - starfall [Scandinavian/Icelandic and Latin mishmash] [st-yar-nah-cah-do]  
> Vaile - winged - named so in the elven language as their ships have sails that look very much like wings [veye-lay]  
> Moja - lush - named so in the elven language for the warm forests there [moha]  
> Tishlen - from the elements 'tish' ice and 'len' jewel lit. ice jewel  
> Borea - of the north [from Latin] [bo-ray-ah]  
> Rella Regnai - 'rella' meaning great and 'regnai' power, named so in the elven language to rival Tishlen [reh-la reyg-nai]
> 
> words - human  
> Drerannen - Greetings (drer - hello/hi) [dreh-rah-nen - dreh is the longest syllable, rah-nen are equal]  
> Nehlya - Goodbye (neh - bye) [neh-lie-a - lie is the longest syllable]  
> Gerenthe - Apologies/sorry [geh-ren-they - th as in thigh, they is the longest syllable]  
> Jernen - Thank you (Jer - thanks) [yer-nen, syllables equal]  
> Svas - Very [s is very short, emphasis on vas]  
> Jag - She [yag]  
> Jeg - He [yeg]  
> Jan - It [yan]  
> Va - Be  
> Vat - Been  
> Vath - Being [th as in thigh]  
> Bres - Thing [long 's']  
> Ia - Yes [ee-ah, equal syllables]  
> Fal - No  
> Va - What
> 
> Nen - You  
> En - I  
> Neneir - We [nen-eir (as in eye) - eir is the longest syllable]  
> Nennen - They [nen-en, syllables equal]  
> Nennene - Them [nen-en-eh, eh is the longest syllable]  
> Ennen - Our [en-nen, nen is the longest syllable]  
> Tha - Am [tha, th as in thigh]  
> Eth - Is/Are [eth, th as in thigh]  
> Ath - The [th as in they]  
> Jyk - Not [yk, y as in you]  
> Ferrum - Iron [fe-rum, equal syllables] from the great smith dragon  
> Confgra - Fire [conf-gra, equal syllables] from the great fire dragon
> 
> to make phrases:  
> You're: Nenth  
> I'm: Ena  
> Isn't: Ejyk [eh-yk]  
> Aren't: Thyk [th-yk]  
> We're: Neneith [nen-eith]  
> You're not - Nenth jyk  
> You aren't - Nen thjyk  
> Jagth - She's  
> Jegth - He's  
> Janth - It's  
> Falbres - Nothing
> 
> Stresses in the human language are very important
> 
> other  
> Arrow tip - insulting name for elves or elven things ie 'dressed like an arrow tip'  
> Cave rat - insulting name for dwarves or dwarven things  
> Solace - this is the only word that means the exact same thing in all languages for Solace said it was her gift to the world


End file.
